Not A Hero
by DevynQ
Summary: Katara lives a solitary life in a Dark city known as Katchou. Deep in the bowels of the underground community, she's known as a Ritnu, an assassin who works for express individuals and situations of his or her choosing. Always an outcast, Katara's life has been a lonely and dangerous one. This is the story of an ordinary girl turned extraordinary anti-hero. ZUTARA**totally AU
1. Prologue

_**A/N**:_ W**elcome all Zutara fans! Let me start off by saying that this is going to be a very dark story. There really aren't many similarities between the Avatar world you recognize and the world you're about to dive into. Like it's really _really_ AU. Of course, there are some elements that remain the same (Katara's looks, Zuko's looks, everyone's looks, really) but the time period and everything in it is different. It's a mix of a modern yet futuristic world with some of the cultural and traditional aspects seen in the show. Also, the terminology (read: _my_ made-up terminology) also extremely differentiates from the norm. I say "Dark city" in my description because there are areas in this world that are entirely Dark and entirely Light, and then there are some that are Undefined or In-Between. So don't fret, my little grammar/punctuation Nazis, I've capitalized these words for a reason. I hope you guys enjoy this story, and of course feedback is always appreciated!**

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I'm four years old. There's something in the attic.

My head feels funny; there's an odd pressure in the air again. Throughout the past week, that pressure has managed to worm its way inside the apartment…and inside my head. I've been sleeping fifteen hours a day, awake for only six or seven, and floating in a weird, dreamy-like haze for the remaining three or four hours. Even now, as my bare feet slide across the hardwood floor in my sterile living room, I feel all tingly. Nothing feels real.

Nothing but the pain in my head and the presence in the attic.

Where are Mummy and Daddy? Don't they feel it, too? _How can they miss it_? I wonder anxiously. It's so hard to ignore. There's also a scent in the air, one of danger. I can sense anger, too, and something wet and musty, like shadows. But shadows don't have a scent…or do they? I'm not sure of anything anymore, and as I slowly approach the staircase leading to the attic (when was that pulled down? and by whom?) I feel the terror start to overcome me. Little by little, the pain in my head is replaced by a complete and total paralysis.

I climb the wooden stairs on my hands and knees. A blister pushes into the palm of my left hand, and I cry out, taken aback by the sharp, piercing agony that's somehow registered through my numbness. I yank the sliver out quickly, hissing, and wait for the blood. But there isn't any.

At the top of the staircase, I'm enveloped by a cold, slithering darkness. Goosebumps bloom up and down my arms. I'm wearing my favorite outfit, a light blue dress with giant white polka dots and thin straps. When the weather's nice and Mummy takes me for a walk in the nearby park, she makes me twirl for her, around and around and around, and long ago I fell in love with the way the dress settles around me, like a warm hug. But now the dress hangs limply off my shoulders, and it feels heavier, as if there's so much moisture in the air here that the material is instantly saturated. But with what? I blink slowly, my eyes weighted with sudden exhaustion.

_What's_ _wrong with m_e? I think silently. And then again, _Where's Mummy and Daddy_? I'm not sure, but I have a dreadful feeling about it all.

The attic's quiet, abnormally so. There's a whisper of something in the far corner, but whatever's there is enshrouded in a thick, impenetrable cloud of black. I know it isn't just a bunch of shadows though; shadows don't move with purpose. This cloud does. I start to shake with uncontrollable tremors that make my teeth chatter. The noise is so loud! I'm worried the thing in the corner will hear me.

Fortunately, it seems really preoccupied with something else. The thing is bent, hunched, like it's leaning over a prized possession. I suddenly become aware of a loud squelching. _Oh, no_, I realize with horror, _it's the thing in the corner_.

And then I have a very, very bad feeling about this.

It's not until the creature pauses that I realize I've spoken this thought aloud. I gasp, shrinking back. I've captured its attention! There's a fetid smell in the air now, one of rot and trash and downright filth. I notice that the smell is coming from the creature when it shifts again and the putrid stench rolls over me in near-tangible waves. The upper half of its body lurches forward, and as it does, the black cloud retreats, revealing a head.

And a face.

"Mummy?" I whisper, my stomach dropping through the floor.

But she doesn't answer. There's blood on her face and on the ground and in her wispy brown hair, and black veins snake through her skin, and her pupils, those lovely green eyes of hers, are now shot through with gray and infused all the way to the core with black. I want to scream, but my voice won't work. She turns, refocusing her attention, and the cloud shifts once again. I see a body on the floor, crumpled and just as bloody as this thing that used to be Mummy.

Except his skin is pale white and he's wearing a suit.

"Daddy," I whimper. That fresh smell that I've come to associate with life is gone. It no longer surrounds him, and I'm afraid of what that means. And then I scream, "_Mummy_, _no_!" because she's leaning over him again, opening a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, and I see that she's going to drain him of blood, and not only that, she's going to feed on Daddy, she's going to _eat_ him, and I have no choice but to watch, no choice, no choice, no –

The thing that was Mummy shrieks and the pain in my head grows _so_ _much worse_. I'm going to explode! I cover my ears with my hands, screaming in agony, and when I dare to look up again Mummy is bent all the way back, her head cocked at an unnatural angle, and there's a black…_thing_…clawing its way through her throat. It rips through her skin, dark clots of blood and bits of bone gushing everywhere. Some of the grisly debris splatters on the floor next to my feet, and my skin crawls. The black thing unfolds into a giant demon-like creature with sleek black wings. There's no discernible color on it, either, just a pure black sheen. Everything about it screams **DARKNESS**.

I'm so afraid, I'm not sure what to do with myself. Mummy's body collapses in a heap, and the sound of skin slapping against the cold, hard surface of the attic floor nearly drives me over the edge. Daddy twitches once, gurgling up blood, and then he stops moving altogether.

_No, Mummy, no, Daddy_! I want to yell, but these words and my own voice have deserted me. I'm alone.

I am alone.

The creature screams and launches itself at me. As it descends, that death smell follows. It swamps my senses, blocks out everything else. It's all I can see, all I can taste. My stomach clenches in protest, and I can feel bile rising in my throat. The enormous, leathery wings viciously beat the air, and I take a single step back. The next thing I know, the demon has hooked its claws into my shirt and proceeds to thrust me backward, down the attic staircase.

I spiral into darkness, and the last pinpoint of light disappears beneath the demon's wings.

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**By the way, Katara is still a kind-hearted/gentle/caring/etc person deep down, but you're going to see that she's been so traumatized throughout her life that that goodness has been shoved aside and drowned out by darkness. It's going to take a lot for her to find her way back to the Light ;) Just a heads-up because I know I'm going to get a few, "This isn't the Katara I know!" Well, this isn't the run-of-the-mill _story_ you know either. Feedback is appreciated!**


	2. Chapter One - The Art of Deception

**Pronunciation Guide: **

**Katchou – **_**cat-chew**_

**Ritnu – **_**rit-new**_

**Frijj - _fridge_**

**daknos – **_**dac-nose (**_**Katchou's own special brand of currency; dispensed in the form of copper coins)**

**Though of course you may pronounce them however you would prefer (I've already seen some **_**cat-chow's**_**) so no big deal, whatever makes you more comfortable with the story. Just letting you know how I say/read the story! Also, these words are entirely fictional. I made them up on the spot (okay, so maybe some of them took a little more thought). Anyway, if they actually mean anything in some other language, please let me know! And of course thank you for the reviews and comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all the ones to come! **

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_SIXTEEN YEARS LATER _

"Here."

Meesah catches the bundle without looking. She brings it up to her face, scanning the wrapped package skeptically. A quick sniff and her grimace swiftly transforms into a knowing smirk. "Don't tell me."

Frean shrugs, running a vein-lined hand through his hair. "Alright, I won't."

But Meesah is already too enraptured with her precious cargo to hear the almost-but-not-quite casual tone he uses. Her hands shake, and her pupils are enlarging on their own, as if they're trying to infuse the chemicals hidden within the tattered cloth through sight alone. "How in the hell did you get your hands on Rayzene?"

"Rayzene?" Morco's fat head pops up from behind a chair covered by a threadbare afghan. Then, his squinty blue eyes focusing on the package, his chubby face lights up. "Holy cow! Where'd you find this stuff?"

"And in such a huge quantity!" Meesah's almost drooling now. It's an unsavory sight. "Jesus, Frean, did you sell your soul to a Ritnu or something?"

The expression on the gawky boy's face flickers for less than a tenth of a second. That's all it takes for me to know that Frean did in fact sell _something_ – whether it was his soul or a far more significant piece of him, I may never know – to a Ritnu for this hefty bundle of Rayzene. The drug usually sells for a quarter of a million daknos, and that's only for a single, five-inch stick. Frean, gangly, innocent, seventeen year old Frean, does not possess that sort of money, nor will he ever. With his near translucent skin and black, greasy hair lined with neon blue stripes, the boy _appears_ to fit the label of a well-off citizen of Katchou. But that's not the case. Meesah, sweet, greedy Meesah has sold almost every part of herself to some organization or other for money, food, and – more often than not – drugs. Sixteen years old and she's already covered in wrinkles, her body as thin and taut as a tight-rope. She thirsts for sex and drugs just as Frean thirsts for attention and respect.

Unfortunately, they're both dead broke, and in Katchou, that's equivalent to being dead _dead_.

The others haven't seen me yet. If they had, they wouldn't be talking like they are. In fact, they wouldn't be anyway within a two mile vicinity of me. I'm crouched atop a broken pillar, watching them from seven feet up. The club – or what passes as a club around here – thumps with heavy bass and inarticulate murmurings that must be music. The room is nearly pitch-black; the only light comes through miniature holes in the ceiling where the wood must have rotted away. Above this rathole is a kitchen, or so I assume. Honestly, I'm not at all familiar with the layout of this hangout. It's too…clichéd for my liking. Too many stereotypical depressed teens slumped against the walls listening to depressing music and popping pills and Frijj, the knock-off, cheaper version of Rayzene, like candy. The walls, a patchwork of wooden beams and slick, dirty concrete combined with the nonexistent lighting makes for a suffocating situation.

I'm able to see better than most, and so I notice when Meesah slips away to the bathroom, obnoxious Rayzene bundle in hand. If she's smart, she won't flaunt the fact that she has one of the most expensive pharmaceutical drugs ever made in her possession. But if I know the girl, and I do, she'll do the complete opposite and share her prize…until someone decides to steal it while she's semi-conscious, slouched in a crack-induced haze. It won't be long until the place is swarming with dopers and drug addicts looking for the best high they'll likely ever get the chance to reach. I shouldn't be here when that happens. In fact, I shouldn't be here now.

Meesah, Frean, Morco...they're part of my past. That's where they should stay. They won't like it if they find out I've been watching them. My presence always made them anxious before when we were what people might generously call "friends," so discovering I was a Ritnu just made it ten-times worse. Not that I really mind, of course. No one messes with a Ritnu, especially not the likes of them.

Sighing, I force myself to stand straight, stretching my tight muscles, and quickly run over the single beam that's fallen across several broken pillars lining the dank room. I leap to the ground in the connecting room, shouldering past blurred eyes and scarlet mouths. My tolerance for this place has already withered and died; I have to get out of here. There has to be an opening _some_where close by. I entered through the Yami Street porthole a few hours ago, but that area isn't safe at this time of night. Too many steroid-enhanced cops and Dark creatures roam those streets after the sun sets.

I would rather take my chances with the underground scene.

Laughter swirls around me like thin wisps of cotton candy. I casually sniff the stale air, which turns out to be a horrendous idea. I'm instantly flooded with the sharp, flowery scent of perfume, the tangy odor of sweat, and the sickly sweet aroma of Frijj smoke. My nose burns, and I clap a hand over it to try and keep the resulting tears at bay. It's no use; the combined smells are too pungent. A single tear slips silently down my cheek.

"Hey, lady, you okay?" This from a punk with grey hair and grey lips to match. I breeze by him, swiping angrily at the wet trail. I can't permit myself to show weakness, even when the cause of my tears was purely an involuntary reaction. _Keep it together_, I tell myself, sliding my eyes over the walls. _Keep it together and find a way out. _

Entering yet another dingy, smoke-infused room, my eyes finally alight on a porthole in the far left corner of the ceiling. I easily make my way over to the escape-hatch (a Ritnu seems to part any crowd with minimal effort, even when the crowd itself isn't even aware of doing so), fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. All the smells and sounds, the faces and blurry movements, are making me sick. There's too much stimuli and not nearly enough outlets.

Hopping up onto a slim ledge, I balance on the balls of my feet before leaping straight into the air. My legs instantly press against the walls that connect three feet from the opening of the porthole. I slide the giant metal disk to the side while maintaining my balance with my free hand. As I pull myself into the fresh air, I catch one final glimpse of Morco, who's just entering the room. He's shoving an enormous slice of greasy pizza into his mouth while clutching a thick, stinky-looking cigar in the other hand. His watery eyes, sunken into the fat of his face, scour the room, quickly coming to land on the porthole, as if he knows I'm seconds away from making my escape. It takes a moment for his miniscule brain to recognize me, but when he does, the corners of his mouth lift in a knowing smile.

I don't wait around to see what the fat bastard will do next.

Sliding the metal plate back into place, I regain my footing and walk briskly down the street, the hood of my black cloak pulled up far enough so that it covers my face. My light brown hair, braided and entwined with dark blue ribbons in a long rope that I've carelessly thrown over my shoulder, reaches nearly to my waist. It's almost time for hair to meet scissors; after all, I wouldn't want it getting caught up in something during a fight. I never really believed Meesah when she said that my hair would be the death of me, but lately I've started keeping more of an open mind when it comes to things I don't believe in.

Without meaning to, I catch my reflection in a pane of dirty glass hanging from a tilted frame. Pausing for the briefest of moments, I surrender to my curiosity. What I see frightens me: flawless skin, pale as a light winter's snow. Abnormally large blue eyes, shining out of a hard, sharply defined face. Dark circles shadow these eyes. Colorless lips are pressed into a thin, unrelenting line. A petite nose flares every few seconds, scenting the air and all its secrets. Black jeans stretch over bony legs, black boots encase frozen blocks of ice (formerly feet), and layers of black tee-shirts hang loosely from a tiny frame.

An assortment of needle-thin knives and translucent throwing stars that absorb refracted light dangle from a slim iron belt cinched to my waist. The glass doesn't show the hidden spurs dug into the backs of my knee-high boots, nor does it show the mini-grenades or the two slender Moto guns tucked into the waistband of my jeans.

My cloak swirls in the wind, the hem skimming across the cracked concrete. I tug it closer around me in a vain attempt at blocking out the frigid air. Everything about me screams **BLACK, **which only makes sense**.** There is no light here in Katchou.

That's probably why they call it a Dark city.

Shivering, I move away from the lopsided frame, unable to stand the sad eyes gazing back at me. My muscles are already trembling, so I know I'm not doing a very good job of keeping the cold out. I desire warmth so strongly my chest aches. The crumbling apartment where I live (temporarily, of course) doesn't have a heater, and most of the windows are either cracked to pieces or gone from the frames entirely, but one thing that sorry excuse of a home has is a working fireplace. If I let myself, I can almost _see_ the dry firewood beckoning, licks of dancing flames grasping at me like searching hands.

But first I have to make a short side-trip.

Gracefully, treading on light feet, I fly across several barren streets until I reach Masaru Boulevard. There, I find Noboru Square, an area of Katchou filled with run-down convenience stores and the most low-level services legally available to citizens. Despite its appearance, Noboru is actually one of the safest places in the city. There aren't any guards, nor is there an automated defense system; in fact, the space seems just as susceptible to crime and violence, pilfering and arson as the formidable Yami Street. But there's one thing that stops thugs and fellow criminals from destroying this place, and that thing is communication.

Noboru is the city's communication center; this is where the top news stories are broadcast, where food is imported, where electronic (and sometimes paper) mail filters in. Without this place, the low-life citizens of Katchou would have no ties with the outside world, whether it be Light, Dark, whatever. We would have no way of knowing what goes on elsewhere, and though the information we're allowed to see and hear is still heavily censored, even a small idea of the workings of the outside world is better than no idea at all.

Shaking the baggy sleeves of my cloak away from my hands, I press my thumb to a DNA scanner. The holographic grid is the only visible thing on the open metal enclosure, which is supported by a thick tunnel stuck into the ground. But after a few seconds, once the scanner has recognized my print, the grid disappears and a small metal box slides up through the thick metal tunnel that's connected to a vault holding similar boxes just beneath my feet. All these boxes are contained in an underground mailing room, and the old-fashioned post office itself sits less than fifty feet from where I stand, totally out in the open. But like I said, around here communication is key, and I'm completely assured that no one will bother me while I'm checking my mail.

There's a single envelope in the box. I immediately open it, knowing I'll have to slip the paper into an incinerator as soon as I'm done. I can't leave any evidence behind. Not when it comes to something as important as this. I know that the slip of paper inside this envelope isn't just _any_ slip of paper. It happens to be a carefully concealed, purposefully vague message.

In blocky letters the message reads **2AM KEI EMPIRE INCORPORATION ROOM 326**. No name, no directives, just a time and an address. I read it twice, embedding the words into my memory, before tucking the slip back into the envelope and depositing both inside the nearest incinerator. The machine thanks me for not littering, and as I turn my back on it, I finger one of my many throwing stars. A spare thought flickers through my mind – in less than three hours, someone will be dead, and I will be responsible.

As I stride deeper and deeper into the affluent area of Katchou, I pass a man with long white hair and devilish eyes. He smiles, a gruesome, bloody sight, when he catches my eye.

And I smile back.

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**Meanings:**

**Yami - _dark_**

**Masaru - _victory_**

**Noboru - _rise, ascend_**

**Kei - _blessed, lucky_**

**So I've used all of these names because they're symbolically foreshadowing what's going to occur. Like Yami Street is basically "dark street" which makes sense since it's a very bad and dangerous area. Masaru Boulevard is a safe place because it contains Noboru Square, and that's partly why I put those two together; _victory_ suggests that good things will happen there and _rising/ascending_ is always a good thing because you're moving to a higher place, becoming better, etc. And then there's Kei, meaning "lucky", which is why I used it in the name Kei Empire Incorporation because something good/lucky is going to go down there ;) These are just helpful little things I like to put into my stories because they're very subtle clues, and if you know the meaning of these words you'll really be reading between the lines. I guess I've also put some spoilers in this paragraph as well, but they're nothing more than little foreshadowing hints, really. I hope you leave some feedback! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter Two - An Assassin's Job

**Hello again, everyone! I'm trying to update as quickly as possible, though I have a lot on my plate (three other unfinished fanfics, two jobs, and four college classes). But I've been so overwhelmed with things to write for this story that I _have_ to get them all out on paper! Anyway, I still have some editing to do for this chapter but I wanted to put it up before I left for work because I just couldn't wait! Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

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"Rice?" The vendor holds out a steaming plastic bowl filled with slightly off-white rice. The color alone tells me that the food's been artificially prepared. I shoot him a look – _now-is-really-not-the-time_ – and he takes the hint, quickly pushing his cart away while suspiciously eyeing my all-black garb.

I'm standing in front of the tallest building in the city, a building that belongs to Kei Empire Inc. This is the main headquarters, at least as far as I know. The streets are virtually empty – it _is_ just after one a.m, after all – except for the vendors selling their food to people with late-night munchies. A grey, misty haze has descended over the city, although the florescent streetlights manage to block out most of the disturbing shroud.

Here on the Upper Side, signs of wealth and power are everywhere: the all-glass buildings, the smoothly paved roads and sidewalks, the security systems blinking on and on and on inside every store, small and large, and even those stupid streetlights are proof that I'm no longer anywhere near the Lower Side. They don't even _have_ streetlights in that half of the city. There's a distinct dividing line between the two halves of Katchou; it's there to let people know where they stand, where they belong. The dividing line on the Upper Side is usually guarded by about twenty men with semi-automatics – to keep out the undesirables from the Lower Side – but I managed to find a way through. I always manage.

I admit, however, that standing very openly in front of one of the most important buildings in the city is probably pretty obvious (and pretty stupid), but I know that no one will bother me. Nobody would dare approach a Ritnu, especially not a Ritnu wandering about at one in the morning. I twist my head left to right and back, casually scanning both sides of the street for any signs of life. There's just the back of the annoying rice vendor, swerving around a corner at the very end of the block. Breathing in deep, I let my muscles relax, and then I take a single step towards the large double doors in front.

It takes me less than two minutes to scale the building. Gripping a glass pane with magnetized gloves, I peek into an open office. This room alone is about the size of the local supermarket I shop at when I'm on the Lower Side. All the lights are out, which I take as a good sign. Since I'm thirty-three floors up, any visible light emanating from the room would make me stand out like a lemur in a bunny pen. Residents of the Upper Side would be able to see me for miles around.

Pressing my thumb against the glass, I start to slide my hand in a wide arc. Once I come back full-circle to my starting point, I press again, hard. The glass liquefies into a puddle of water, dripping over the side and down the thirty-three floors to the concrete far below. The whole soundless process takes me less than a minute. Slipping into the office, I crouch low, examining the interior.

At first, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be observing. The room is basically empty. But then I spot a few pieces of furniture that tells me someone does in fact work here. Everything seems so spacious. It's as if these people spend less and less the more they earn. Considering this particular room is so sparsely furnished it appears to be abandoned, the man who owns it must have a huge wad of daknos in his pocket. I wouldn't be surprised if he's the only person in the one percent category that I've been hearing so much about lately; the one percent that earns billions of daknos while the remaining ninety-nine percent of the population wallows in their own filth.

For a second I become infuriated by the unfairness of it all. I'm inexplicably overcome with the most intense wave of anger. To think that there's millions of well-meaning people starving while trillionaires like this one sit comfortably in rooms containing a single priceless item.

Seeing red, I sweep through the monstrous room, by-passing the exquisitely-designed desk on which sits a metal stick that emits a faint, therapeutic glow. It must be some kind of high-tech energy-saving lamp. Two low-slung chairs, somewhat less richly adorned than the high-backed leather throne facing the room, are situated in front of the desk. There's a single framed picture on the wall with all the windows; it's a jumble of white Korean characters, none of which I can decipher, inked on a black background. The floors are covered with gleaming hardwood slats. There doesn't seem to be a speck of dirt or dust in sight, nor does anything appear to be out of place. Everything in this room is immaculate, spotless. In all honesty, all this perfection is making me a trifle unsettled.

Finally (what feels like two centuries later) I make it to the wide doorless entryway. An equally beautiful but meagerly decorated hallway stretches to infinity in both directions, though I expected no less. It's like the men who own these buildings _want_ their people to wander aimlessly in these maze-like hallways and rooms. Bizarre. Anyway, having already studied the layout, I decide to go right, intuiting that I can reach my destination much quicker that way. Now, despite the fact that there are cameras evenly spaced every twenty feet or so along the hallway, not a single one is turned on. I can always sense the buzz of electricity, and sometimes I can even smell it. Right now I'm hearing and smelling nothing of the sort. Suspiciously enough, I still feel like I'm being watched. I'm probably fooling myself into a state of intense paranoia, but I'm really having trouble ignoring the feeling.

Nevertheless, I proceed onward (and onward and onward), but when I dart a look around the only corner I've come across during my endless trek, I stop dead.

You see, I've anticipated the extreme security measures Kei Empire Inc is known for taking. I've anticipated the thirty-three story climb with nothing but air and glass beneath me. I've anticipated the possibility of their being late-night dwellers sneaking through the streets. I've anticipated the kill itself and the variety of weapons needed to dispose of the body, which I'm hoping won't implode into a sticky mess. I've even anticipated the man himself being here in the building (which he actually happens to be), totally unaware and lulled into a false sense of security, surrounded by his empire. I have taken _everything_ into account.

And yet I have not anticipated this.

She's sitting in a much smaller chair, leaning an elbow on a much smaller desk than the one I examined in the Big Boss's personal office. Her curly black hair hangs in bunched ringlets around her heart-shaped face. Ruby red lips are puckered in concentration, dark blue eyes roving aimlessly over the cluttered mess of her desktop. Pale pink nails tap out a rhythmic beat on the HD screen of her pocket-sized supercomputer, which she then presses to her ear. She doesn't look especially happy with whoever's on the other end of the call. Her eyes are narrowed, thick, professionally-styled eyebrows bunched together. She's wearing an admittedly pretty green dress that brushes her ankles and cinches tightly around her middle. Although she appears to be more on the petite side, the girl's a little chubby in some areas. She's also twenty-four years of age.

This young woman's name is Hana Chokskii, and she is the Big Boss's own personal secretary. Her presence in this otherwise bare room can only mean one thing; the man himself must be hidden away behind the thick double doors set to the left of his secretary's desk.

Needless to say, I haven't anticipated this kind of obstacle. She seems harmless, and yet…I must take precautions. Honestly, I _really_ do not want to kill this woman, but if she doesn't cooperate with what I'm obviously going to be forced to do next, I'll have no choice but to dispose of her as well. It would really be a shame, too; she's an uncommonly successful beauty. There aren't many of those in Katchou who aren't whores.

There's only one step left to take, and so I take it. I part from the shadows of the hallway and make a beeline straight to Hana. She only realizes I'm there when I'm about ten feet away (not much of a security guard though, is she?). Her rosy mouth drops open while her white-tipped nails instantly cease their incessant tap-tap-tapping. Even from a good distance away I can hear the high-pitched female voice on the other end of the device: "Hana? Hana, baby, is something wrong?" The girl in question is merely staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

It should be impossible to gain access into a building like this without receiving permission directly from the source; I know this. So it makes sense that she can't believe I'm here. Ironically, I can't believe _she's_ here. Hana's file didn't say anything about her working into the wee hours of the morning, and that's something that is actually just a _little_ bit noteworthy. Apparently the person who wants me to do their dirty work doesn't think so.

A few seconds pass before she moves the device away from her ear, ignoring the squawking, and presses the **DISCONNECT** button without removing her eyes from mine.

"Who…?" she starts softly, but when she sees my hand move, the rest of her words cut out.

That one little shift in movement has pulled aside the edge of my cloak, revealing my belt of throwing stars and wicked sharp knives. Hana's mind seems to register all this, and I see the flash in her eyes as she connects the dots. She realizes who I am. Or rather, _what_ I am.

This is without a doubt the first (and probably only) time in Hana Chokskii's life when she's going to be face-to-face with a Ritnu.

"_No_…" It escapes her mouth in a whispered half-gasp, half-groan. The supercomputer slips from her numb fingers and hits the spotless white tiles with a muted smack. The color drains from her face like water down a drain, and just as her eyes begin to rove over to the black metal doors sheltering her boss, I squeeze my hand into a fist. Instantly, Hana becomes motionless. She freezes so suddenly that it looks like she's been zapped into a complete paralysis, which is close enough to the truth.

"Now, Hana," I say in a soothing tone, "you wouldn't want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours, would you?"

There's no way she can respond, of course, but I know her ears are working just fine. She has no choice but to listen to everything I say. Besides, I want her to know who's in control now. I want Hana to be aware of exactly what I'm doing to her body.

And I want her to be afraid.

It looks like I've struck gold; her pupils are each the size of the giant rock perched on her ring finger. The diamond is almost as large as my ear, and when the light catches it, prisms of color flash all over like the room is one big kaleidoscope. I release the tension in my hand for a moment, considering. Is she married? It didn't say that anywhere in her file. So why is she in possession of a multi-million daknos piece of jewelry? It doesn't make sense. I try to shrug my suspicion away. Maybe she's got a good old-fashioned sugar daddy. It doesn't really matter to me though…does it? None of this is my business.

Yet I still have a lingering suspicion that the Big Boss is the one who put that diamond on her finger, and for some irrational reason, I don't like that. Not at all.

"Kinda late to be working, isn't it?" My own voice surprises me; I sound angry.

Hana's pupils contract and expand in response.

"Oh, yes, how rude of me," I say with mock apology, and then, before this has probably even registered in the poor girl's mind, I'm sliding my hood off, exposing my face to her. "Now we can really see each other. That makes things a bit less uncomfortable, don't you think?"

Silence.

So, okay, I'm going to be frank here; I usually don't enjoy playing with my target (or associates of the target, in this case) but something about that ring has ignited a fire deep within me, and it will take all the ice in the world to smother it.

"You see, I'm not here for you, Hana. You must know that."

She doesn't move – correction: she physically _cannot_ move – but I sense a shift in the air. It's her emotions, altering more swiftly than I can track. There's an intermingling smell of relief…and dread. She's only too happy to be out of the line of fire, but she has to know by now who I'm really out to get. And this worries her. She'll be out of a job and out of a… Hmm. Not quite sure what that emotion is. I'll have to examine that facet later.

Using her worry to my advantage, I say, "Since you and your boss seem to be a little too close for comfort, you probably know more than your fair share of secrets, Hana. So I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them without pausing. Sound simple enough?" Pursing my lips, I slowly saunter around her small excuse of a desk, watching her face as I do. "One last thing. You're not going to lie to me, right?" And now my tone turns absolutely frigid. "Because I'll know if you do."

Leaning my butt on the edge of her desk, I cross my arms and my legs, trying for a relaxed position. I smile and ask, "The Big Boss is in that room behind you, correct?"

Hana's hollow voice fills the air. "Yes, that's correct. He sometimes likes to take an hour or two to breathe in his personal study. He doesn't like to be disturbed while he's in there." The words are stilted, mechanical, probably because I'm literally forcing them out of her, though for all I know this is how the girl normally sounds.

"Very good," I reply, patting her shoulder. Hana doesn't flinch. She doesn't acknowledge me at all, in fact. "Next question then. Is he alone in there?"

"Yes, he's alone."

"Does he carry any weapons on his person at any time?"

"No, not that I'm aware of."

"How long does he usually stay in the building on a regular basis before leaving?"

"He stays until one a.m most nights," Hana intones, sounding every bit the dutiful robot. "He'll return at precisely six a.m for the next day's schedule."

"Less than four hours of sleep?" I ask aloud, not really intending her to answer me.

"He regularly gets three and one quarter hours of sleep every night."

I think this over for a few moments – this fella must be exhausted – and watch Hana's emotionless face. "What time do _you_ usually leave the building, Hana?"

"One a.m."

Without even glancing at the holographic clock sitting on her desk, I know it's well past her departure time. "Why are you still here, then?"

"I was running late."

"I see," I reply slowly, thinking, _Oh, I bet you were_. Or _maybe_ she was stalling, waiting eagerly for the Big Boss to exit his private antechamber and notice her working all by her lonesome. "Now tell me," I say finally. "Tell me what you know about this man."

It might just be my overactive imagination, but I swear that the slightest bit of warmth seeps into Hana's voice as she begins to talk about the owner of Kei Empire. "They call him the Fire Lord. He reigns over the technology industry in Katchou, which is to say he basically _owns_ Katchou. Double cross him, it's said, and he'll burn you where you stand. They say he's a formidable and treacherous man, one who will just as soon salute you as kill you. I wouldn't mess with him if I were in control of a competing company."

Is that a dig at me? Is that her very non-subtle way of telling me to back off, that I'll only be figuratively burned to the ground by this Fire Lord if I try to take him out? Probably. My control on her is pretty air-tight, but it's not strictly _infallible_. And anyway, I've already taken this whole thing one step further. I'm not going to _mess_ with him. I'm going to kill him.

"Continue," I demand of her, arms tightly crossed.

"But he's also such a…a lovely man. He's caring and gentle, though he tries very hard to hide those qualities. He doesn't want the world to see him as compassionate; he wants everyone to view him as a dangerous man, a lethal opponent, the fearsome owner of a corporate giant. But he's just so much more."

_Oh, is he_? I want to say in my sweetest voice. _Is everything just rainbows and designer dresses in your world?_ I've heard enough. Gathering myself, I watch over Hana, who seems a bit misty-eyed despite the reigns of control I hold over her.

"Excellent job, Hana," I tell her. "You've answered all my questions accordingly, and with much detail. But there's still one last thing I want to know."

She stares at me blankly.

"What is this man's name?"

For a second – no, a _nano_second – Hana's features soften. Her lips part, as if she's waiting for another mouth to press down on hers right this very moment. Her body straightens and the corners of her mouth lift in a half-remembered smile.

"Zuko," she whispers softly, eyes downcast. "His name is Zuko."

"Well, that's quite an interesting name," I say with a bored sigh, but inwardly I'm thinking, _Actually, that _does_ sound pretty formidable. _ But it's just a name. That's all it is.

A normal response to this would be a nod, but since I still haven't relinquished control of Hana's body, she remains as still as a bona-fide statue. Barely restraining a frown, I maneuver around her stiff figure and head straight for the two giant doors. There are etchings of dragon skulls on both doors; an ominous sign if there ever was one. I chance one last look over my shoulder. Hana's facing forward, staring into space, arms held tightly against her sides, feet planted firmly on the floor. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I loosen my hold, but only by an inch or two. I need to keep this girl submissive, but I also need to be able to use the majority of my ability and focus on this Zuko character. I should be in and out within five minutes.

Speaking of time…I check the flashing numbers on Hana's desktop clock. It's two a.m exactly. Time to make my move. Turning my back on Hana and the rest of the building, I face the towering black doors head on. With a careless flick of my index finger, my secretary puppet pushes a button and the doors slide back into the walls. I step into a dark room, feeling the temperature drop ten degrees. I can see my breath every time I exhale.

The doors close with a nearly inaudible click, sealing me within this dimly-lit chamber. The room is all bare bones, just like the rest of Kei Empire Inc. On the opposite side of the room, an electric fireplace sizzles and cracks. The shadows of flames dance across the blank walls. A single leather chair is placed in the center of the room, and in the chair sits a man. He's facing the electric fireplace, and in his hand is a small glass of what smells like scotch with a hint of vodka. The man seems to examine the glass, his slim fingers gliding over the crystalline surface.

Then it all happens very quickly.

Without even being aware that he's moving, I blink...and the man is standing and whipping the glass at me in one motion. I twirl out of the way (_how did he know I would be here? how could he _possibly_ know that?) _and then I'm behind him, fireplace now at my back. He swivels around, not seeming as alarmed as I would think, and looks directly into my eyes.

My heart plummets into my stomach, through all thirty-three floors, and then buries itself six feet under the ground. My throat runs as dry as a Bashian riverbed, and I get a light, airy feeling in my head. Suddenly dizzy, I clench my fist a little too tightly and hear Hana's scream of agony on the other side of the walls. The man stares at me, expressionless, and that sends me over the edge. For him to be so calm, so collected, so _poised_ while I'm falling to pieces second by second for no discernible reason…no, that's not how this is supposed to work.

So I do the one thing that sets me apart from all other Ritnu, the one thing that makes me special, the one thing that ensures that my success rate remains the highest in the city.

I raise my hands and begin to Bloodbend.

* * *

**Hana - _flower_**

**Bashian - honestly, I just made it up because I like how the name sounds...not a very good reason, but there you have it~**


End file.
